“No.” Something old and sad fills his eyes. “No, it’s not. Let me try again. Ravenfire walked as a haughty weakling boy into Leather Hand’s arms. His crimes were terrible, horrific. But is it not enough that in the course of thirty summers he lost everything, including himself? How long should a man suffer for crimes committed before he became a man?”
I blink up at the vault of the sky, watching the dead walking to the afterlife, their soft shining footprints stretching forever into vast and fathomless darkness above me.
“Some would say he should suffer forever.”
“Most would, I suspect.”
He stops talking, and I can tell words have failed him. But the words he’s just spoken echo across an immeasurable wasteland inside me. I long to forgive everyone for everything, but what do I know about true evil and prices paid?
Grandfather quietly takes a breath, as though to fortify his courage, before he says, “If you knew without a doubt that torturing one child to death would save a nation or a People, would you do it?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I say, “No. Of course not.”
“Ah…” he says in that soft voice that teaches lessons. “Even if that child’s death would trigger the collapse of monstrous kings and kingdoms and become the edifice upon which a thousand years of peace would be built?”
Grandfather often forces me to think unpleasant thoughts, as though spinning moral conundrums will give me the practice I need to make difficult decisions later in life. I dare not answer until I’ve thought the implications through.
“Will the child’s death save the lives of other people?”
“Thousands of lives, probably. But it means that no one will mourn that child. They will celebrate his death as a great moment in history and, thereby, his suffering will go unavenged.” Pain fills that last sentence. “Is that justice, Tsilu?”
From every crevice in my soul, cries seep—shouts that justice was not done. The child was innocent and should not have been forced to suffer such an agonizing fate.
But I say, “I … well, maybe. I mean, if the child’s suffering was the price that had to be paid to save a nation or a People, then wasn’t it a small price to pay?”
“Umm,” Grandfather says, gently squeezes my hand, and rolls to his back to gaze up at the night sky, where Meteor People blaze across the heavens, leaving frosty trails in their wake. “It is beyond my comprehension that one innocent child is somehow worth less than one hundred. Is not his life as sacred as theirs? If it isn’t, then perhaps we delude ourselves, and life is not sacred at all.”
Bewildered by this comment, I watch the clouds on the eastern horizon. Moon Mother hides just out of sight, but she’s lifted her radiant hands into the bellies of the clouds and turned them into glowing white towers. Such beauty seems out of place, even extravagant, in light of our discussion.
I adjust my head to a more comfortable position on Kwinsi’s pack. “Grandfather, can you tell me more about Leather Hand’s first daughter, the ugly girl named Yellow Gill or Yellow Quill?”
He’s still gazing at the sky when he smiles and says, “I think, perhaps, you are trying to ask me if Blue Dove got the name wrong and Yellow Quill was actually Golden Quill, your mother.”
I grit my teeth, as though that simple act can protect me from the truth about to be revealed. “Yes, Grandfather.”
A veil of sadness comes over his weathered face, and I can tell he’s been dreading this question for a long, long time. The deep furrows across his forehead tighten, casting shadows that resemble bottomless cracks in the world. My world. I fear his answer may be an earthquake that shatters everything in my life.
“Yes, she was your mother.”
“Then Ravenfire was my father?”
Involuntarily, I turn to Crane where he sleeps with his back to me three paces away and, from the corner of my eye, I see Grandfather quietly follow my gaze.
Barely audible, he says, “He was. Yes.”
“And Maicoh is my brother?”
Surprised, he says, “Did Crosswind tell you that?”
“It was one of the memories that came to me afterward. I was playing in a wildflower meadow with my family. I saw him there and knew he was my brother.”
Grandfather shifts to prop himself up on one elbow and looks out across the camp, scanning the sleeping warriors and guards who keep watch on the high rocky bluffs. I’m intrigued that his eyes do not fix on my brother, but instead come to rest upon Blue Dove. It’s as if something sharp has sliced him open inside. The woman sleeps completely surrounded by warriors, invulnerable, but I have the feeling that he’d like to remedy that situation.
“Then Blue Dove is my aunt?”
“I’m afraid she is,” he replies, then adds, “My precious granddaughter, do I have to tell you never to repeat that? Or any of your memories?”
“No, I—I know. Crane told me.”
Grandfather nods. “Good. I’m relieved.”
As I watch, a faint blue glow surrounds him. Must be a trick of the moon rising above the horizon behind him, but I remember things Kwinsi said about Grandfather and murmur, “Why haven’t you escaped? Kwinsi said you were more Powerful than I realized. If that’s true—”
“Oh…” He sounds very tired. “Because I must go to Flowing Waters Town.”
“Why?”
“It’s an old reason. One that I’m not even sure I fully understand now, except that it’s necessary for me to be there when everyone suddenly grasps what it has all been for.”
“Just tell me why—”
“No, my beloved Tsilu. I’ve told you far more tonight than I should have, and by doing so I’ve placed you in the path of forces so dangerous they terrify me. Forgive me. I would answer if I could, but I can’t.”
He reaches out to stroke my chopped-off hair, and I grasp his hand and pull it down over my heart where I hold it tight. “Thank you for telling me what you could. I’m going to try to sleep now.”
I kiss his hand, then release it and roll to my back to watch autumn leaves blow through the air above me.
Beneath my head, the figurines in the pack shift, and I hear them whispering to one another long into the windy night.
Forty-six
The Blessed Sun
From all the high points in Flowing Waters Town, whelk shell horns blew to announce the sighting of the Blue Dove’s party coming down the road from the north.
Leather Hand used his walking stick to steady his legs as he plodded across town toward his chambers. He would meet her party there. Sunwatcher Cub and High War Chief Stinger walked at his sides. But in a diamond formation around them, four White Moccasins marched, their gazes vigilantly scanning for threats to the Blessed Sun’s life.
At least the smell of decaying flesh was gone, but a new scent had replaced it. The tang of rage. Where was that coming from? Cub or Stinger? Smelled stronger than the smell of death, as though it permeated the entire town.
Just at the edges of his hearing, wooden beaks clacked and copper bells jingled. Sometimes he glimpsed the thlatsinas. Quick flashes of hideous masks or bright kirtles, but never just one or two. The half-human beasts were always clustered together, swaying in some long-forgotten dance while they whispered like ancient conspirators. Now and then he caught words, but not often, so their intentions remained a mystery.
“Are you well, Blessed Sun?” Cub asked. Dressed in pure white, the priest appeared crystalline in the last rays of the sun that pierced the trees and spiked across the town plaza, as though made of faceted white chert. “You’ve been very quiet.”
“Where are my priestesses? Squash Blossom and Beaker? I ordered you to bring them with you.”
“Yes, you did, but they are dead, Blessed Sun. Now, forgive me, but you need to watch your step here.” Cub took Leather Hand’s elbow and helped him maneuver around an uneven spot in the plaza.
While he watched his feet, Leather Hand wondered when they’d died. Had to be recent. Had they bee
n ill or …
He grimaced at the strange shapes that appeared on the ground in front of him. Must be cast by the blocky irregular heights of the walls. They resembled stair steps ascending into the sky, but each time he almost stepped on one, the black rectangle slithered around his feet, so that he found it impossible to actually set foot upon the spectral stairway.
Horns sounded again, announcing that Blue Dove’s party had reached the outskirts of town.
Leather Hand stopped and looked northward. Over the tops of the walls, he could see a few tufts of yellow leaves clinging tenaciously to the cottonwood branches that shivered in the cold breeze. The rest of the leaves lay like a mottled yellow-and-tan blanket upon the surrounding hills, or piled in windblown pillars against every corner inside the town. They had only a few slaves left, so it was becoming more and more difficult to keep Flowing Waters Town clean. Naturally, none of the First People would stoop to such menial labor.
When they reached the great kiva, Sunwatcher Cub led the way around the circular structure, following the curve of the wall in a sunwise direction.
Only partially subterranean, the top half of the sacred ceremonial chamber thrust up into the open air about sixteen hands tall. The white walls had been gloriously painted with the huge images of the Flute Player, the Blue God, and a flock of Thunderbirds soaring through an ocean of lightning zigzags.
As he passed the towering red image of the Flute Player, Leather Hand scowled up into the god’s face and grumbled, “You’re a pathetic god, do you know that? Are you really so feeble you can’t defend yourself against the beastly thlatsinas? If you don’t start fighting back, the Made People will turn you into a joke for children to laugh at. Or worse … you will fade away until no one remembers you at all.”
Cub and Stinger halted on either side of him, and the White Moccasins re-formed into a protective semicircle around them.
Leather Hand lifted his walking stick and thumped the Flute Player’s face, barely aware of the red flakes of paint that cracked off the sacred image and scattered on the ground. “Stand up for yourself before it’s too late!”
Cub gasped and threw out his hands. “Please, Blessed Sun! It’s not wise to antagonize the gods, especially…”
When he thumped the Flute Player again, just to annoy his Sunwatcher, a cry of indignation exploded from the town behind him.
Leather Hand whirled around to see where it had come from. Over two hundred people filled the plaza or sat on the rooftops working and whispering. The array of brightly colored capes created an exquisite mosaic against the white walls.
“Who did that? Who screamed? Did you see?”
High War Chief Stinger shrugged his muscular shoulders. “Impossible to say. You know how voices echo around the walls at sunset.”
Several people leaped to their feet and scurried for their chambers. Others, mostly men, gathered in small groups to converse.
“The idiots. Do they think the Flute Player will stride into the plaza and strike me dead? He can’t even fend off a measly thlatsina.”
Stinger glanced around, alarm in his eyes. The tension in the plaza was growing. “We need to get you inside where you’ll be safe, Blessed Sun.”
“I’m not afraid of these—”
“Well, I am,” Stinger said as he grasped Leather Hand’s arm and brusquely escorted him to the doorway of the great kiva. “Go inside the kiva for a while. I’ll instruct our warriors to clear the plaza and rooftops—”
“I don’t wish to go into the kiva! I wish to go back to my chambers. And let go of my arm!” Leather Hand jerked his arm free of the High War Chief’s grasp.
Stinger backed away, disapproval on his face, making room for Cub to step forward.
“Blessed Sun, I beg you to do as your High War Chief advises.” The Sunwatcher looked to be on the verge of panic as he spread his hands in a pleading gesture. “Besides, your new priests and priestesses, those you just appointed, have gathered inside the great kiva to consult over the arrival of your daughter. I’m sure they would value your counsel on the matter. Won’t you grace them with your wisdom for just a few moments?”
Cub kept licking his lips like a frightened mongrel as he scanned the faces turned in their direction. He’d appointed new priests and priestesses? When had that happened? Several of the small groups of men had merged, forming larger groups, and a low drone of hostile voices carried across the plaza.
Grudgingly, Leather Hand said, “Oh, very well. But escort Maicoh and my daughter to my chambers. Once things settle down in town, I’ll have Stinger and fifty warriors bring me there.”
Cub bowed. “Of course, Blessed Sun.”
Forty-seven
Tsilu
At dusk, mist crawls up from the Spirit River and creeps around the bases of the towering walls of Flowing Waters Town. What an amazing place!
I gape at the magnificent vista as I walk through the shimmering fog behind Grandfather, my mouth hanging open. There are several enormous walled great houses here, Flowing Waters Town west, and east, and north. When combined, there must be thousands of chambers. The very notion takes my breath away. And out in the flats, smaller houses sit surrounded by fields. How does the Blessed Sun feed them all? But when I think about the burned villages and refugees fleeing along the trails, I know the answer. He must take what he needs from others.
I have to tilt my head far back to stare up at the highest points, where red-shirted warriors stand on rooftops, aiming down at us with drawn bows.
Grandfather, walking beside me, whispers, “Are you scared, Tsilu?”
“Yes, Grandfather.”
Reaching out, he takes my hand and holds it tightly, murmuring, “Me, too.”
There’s a curious scent on the breeze, earthy and pungent, like the air before lightning strikes, which makes me constantly glance up at the sky to search for Thunderbirds. But the only clouds I can see are drifting along the western horizon.
This place is oddly silent. How can such a huge place with all these multistory buildings be this quiet? I should be hearing dogs barking and children crying. People singing or laughing while supper is being prepared.
As my gaze moves across the landscape, I realize that not even creatures from the surrounding hills venture here, not the rabbits we saw nibbling dry grass farther north along the river, nor the deer with quivering nostrils that bounded away as we neared. Even the skeletal branches of the trees here are empty of birds.
But there are wanderers in the shadows, thin willowy things with huge dreaming eyes. Am I just exhausted from the long walk? Each time I try to focus on the shapes, they are swift to slip into a crack and disappear.
“They won’t hurt you,” Grandfather says.
“Are they real?” I look up into his face. “What are they? I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Earth Spirits come to watch the last moments of an ancient story that began thirty long summers ago.”
At the corner of town, we pass a circular structure where I calmly regard more of the willowy creatures. If there was a fire, I would think them leaping flame shadows. But there is no fire outside the walls. When we pass, light steps patter along behind me, coming nearer and nearer. Their panting softly disturbs the silence.
The shadows of the highest wall suddenly engulf us and, for the first time, images congeal: a long slender arm reaches out, a foot lifts into the air, a Dance sash flips, showing beautiful yellow and blue designs. More willowy Spirits emerge from the cracks, and the flapping of wings erupts all around. The sounds are loudest where the darkness is deepest.
Dank coolness has settled over the world. As dusk claims the land, I can’t help but shiver.
Forty-eight
Blue Dove
“It’s about time!” I shout when Sunwatcher Cub finally strides around the corner of town and rushes toward me. His young face is red and he’s breathing hard. “What took you so long? Someone should have trotted out to meet us when you first sighted us coming
down the road.”
As he strides forward, the ten warriors who escorted us home file around me and head back to their families in town.
Crane walks forward and I see him stare expectantly at Cub.
Cub ignores him and bows to me. “Apologies, Blessed daughter. Your father is in consultation with his priests and priestesses in the Great Kiva. He orders me to escort your party to his chambers to await his return.”
Something’s wrong. Fear tightens his expression. As Cub leads the way around the corner and into the plaza, dread fills me. The place is empty. At this time of evening, people should be sitting on rooftops or meandering across the plaza. The only living things I see are warriors strategically placed around the walls, as though guarding the people inside.
“What happened? Where is everyone?”
“There was a small disturbance in town. The White Moccasins escorted people to their chambers. They are safe inside.”
“What kind of a disturbance?” Wasp Moth says as he strides up beside me with his war club in his fist. “Where’s Stinger?”
“Nothing to worry about. Stinger is guarding the Blessed Sun while he confers with his priests and priestesses. Now, please follow me. I’ll take you to the Blessed Sun’s chambers. He’ll return short—”
“I know the way to my father’s chambers,” I say.
Cub bows again. “Yes, of course you do. However, your father ordered me to escort you there, so I have no choice.”
“Very well.” I flick a hand to him. “Go on, then.”
Cub bows respectfully, turns, and leads us across the plaza to the ladders to the town’s third floor where my father’s chambers are located. The Sunwatcher’s eyes keep roving around the town, as though he expects an arrow to lance down at any time, aimed for his heart. An arrow loosed by one of our own warriors.
Dear gods, what happened while I was gone?
When we reach the base of the first ladder, Wasp Moth stops in front of me and says softly, “With your permission, I will consult with Stinger and then organize the warriors in our party accordingly. I have the gut feeling Stinger needs them.”
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